The Secrets of Ghosts

by Sarah Painter

  Katie stepped closer to the bed, took Fred’s free hand. Fred’s hand was cool and dry. His fingernails were yellow and ridged and Katie quickly stopped focusing on them. She tried to look at his face, but it already didn’t look like Fred. His expression, in sleep, was slack, and his colour wasn’t right. His skin looked like wax, like a bad copy of a human being. Katie didn’t want to think it, but he already looked dead.

  Gwen passed a hand over his forehead, leaned in and spoke close to his cheek, so quietly that Katie couldn’t hear what she said. When she sat back, Katie leaned in, ready to say goodbye. As she did Fred’s fingers tightened on her own. She leaned closer, thinking perhaps he might open his eyes, maybe even say goodbye himself. Katie felt her eyes prickling with tears and a lump formed in her throat. Fred was the closest thing she’d had to a grandfather and now he was slipping away in front of her. Katie felt a strange tingling in her hand, and an itch in her shoulder that travelled down her arm, making her muscles tense.

  Colour was flooding into Fred’s face. His cheeks went from pallid to pink and seemed to plump up. The itching in her arm was turning into discomfort, which was quickly turning into painful pins and needles. Katie tried to pull her hand away from Fred’s, she wanted to move her arm, to rub life into it, but his grip was tight now. ‘My arm,’ Katie said, fear rushing through her. ‘My hand.’

  Gwen’s voice sounded very far away and there was a roaring sound in her ears. The edges of Katie’s sight went black. She felt Fred moving, sitting up, his hand still grasping hers, and then she felt nothing at all.

  *

  Gwen looked from Katie’s slumped form to Fred, who was struggling to sit up, for a single, paralysed second, her brain trying to work out what her eyes had seen, and then she darted around the bed. ‘Lie down,’ she said to Fred, not caring that her voice was harsh, only wanting to simplify things for a moment. Fred was holding Katie’s hand, his knuckles white, and Gwen tried to peel his fingers away. ‘Let go of her,’ she said. ‘Fred. Let go.’ Fred looked down as if surprised to see himself gripping Katie and his hand sprang open.

  Katie’s eyes fluttered open. ‘Gwen?’

  ‘You’re okay,’ Gwen said, relief making her giddy. She put her arms around Katie and helped her to sit up. ‘You’re okay. You just fainted.’

  ‘Crap,’ Katie said, her eyes already clear, her colour back to normal. ‘Not again.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Gwen said, her heart squeezing. ‘Again?’

  ‘When I found Mr Cole. Didn’t I tell you?’ Katie shook her head, as if trying to clear it. ‘I’ve been feeling faint a lot at work, too.’

  ‘Are you pregnant?’ Gwen spoke without thinking. She tried to ignore the stab of pain that the words gave her.

  ‘Christ, no!’ Katie looked outraged. It would’ve been funny if Gwen had any room in her mind for humour.

  ‘Flu?’ She put her hand on Katie’s forehead. It was cool and dry.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Katie leaned back in the chair. ‘Just a bit tired.’

  ‘May I sit up, now?’ Fred said in a meek voice.

  ‘Sorry, Fred,’ Gwen said, on automatic pilot. ‘Hang on.’ She peered into Katie’s eyes, checking her pupils, and watched colour returning to her face. What had happened?

  Katie closed her eyes, waved a hand. ‘I’m fine, really.’

  Gwen helped Fred to sit up. She’d wanted to protect Katie from pain and loss and, of course, she didn’t want Fred to die, but this was beyond anything she could’ve imagined. Fred leaned forwards and Gwen arranged pillows behind him. The man who had been on the brink of death for the last week and who, Gwen would’ve sworn, had taken his last breath three minutes previously leaned back with a contented sigh. It wasn’t right. He was supposed to be dead. Goddess help her for thinking it, but it was the truth. Gwen couldn’t stop looking from Katie to Fred. Katie had done something, but what kind of magic could cure a person that sick? A person whose time had clearly come?

  Fred smiled at her, his top dentures slipping a little. ‘I could murder a boiled egg. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve felt hungry?’

  As the woman who had been trying to coax him to eat for the last six months, Gwen had an idea, but she shook her head.

  ‘But first, I must pay a visit.’ Fred pushed the covers back and began to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

  ‘Fred—’ Gwen moved to stop him. ‘You can’t.’

  ‘Nonsense, girl.’ He pushed on the bed with his hands and rose unsteadily to his feet.

  Gwen followed him as he walked to the bathroom, seeming to get stronger and more steady with every step. She went into Fred’s kitchen and put a small pan of water onto the electric hob. There were eggs on the counter; she’d brought them earlier in the week. She remembered choosing the small box, thinking that he’d never finish a dozen. That he wouldn’t live long enough.

  Katie walked into the kitchen, her arms wrapped around her body as if she was trying to hold herself together.

  ‘Are you sure you should be up?’ Gwen didn’t know how to act around Katie, wasn’t even sure if the young woman standing in Fred’s kitchen was truly her niece at all. She wasn’t sure if she should be gentle or motherly or whether she should take her by the shoulders and scream, ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Katie said, sounding as uncertain as Gwen felt.

  Gwen put the lid on the saucepan and turned to face Katie. ‘What happened in there?’

  Katie looked miserable. ‘I was hoping you could tell me.’

  Gwen shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, honeybunch. I’m useless.’ She felt tears in her eyes and blinked them back.

  ‘You’re not useless,’ Katie said, ‘but that was strange. Wasn’t that strange?’

  ‘Strange is definitely the word,’ Gwen said carefully.

  ‘Unless he wasn’t as sick as we thought,’ Katie said. ‘Or, maybe he’s just having a little rally. Maybe he’ll go back to bed in a minute.’ She stopped speaking as the sounds of Fred whistling in the bathroom reached them. ‘Or maybe we should visit Hannah Ash. See if she knows anything about this kind of thing.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Gwen was sick of feeling uncertain but maybe going public would be a bad idea. Who else might want to use Katie’s power, use Katie? ‘You brought him back to life,’ she said, needing to hear the words out loud. ‘You made him better. I saw it.’

  ‘I don’t think—’ Katie began, then stopped. ‘Is that even possible?’

  ‘I’ve never heard of it. Unless you’re talking about blood magic. The bad stuff.’

  ‘The stuff you used. To save me.’

  Gwen nodded. ‘Exactly. But you didn’t do anything like that.’

  ‘No,’ Katie said. ‘I swear—’

  ‘I know you didn’t. You just touched him and he got better. Magic that powerful is... It’s huge. I can’t even—’

  ‘What’s huge?’ Fred Byres appeared in the doorway. Still old, a little hunched, and very skinny, but unquestionably alive. His eyes went from Gwen to Katie and back again. ‘I hope you’re talking about my egg because I’m starving.’

  Chapter 16

  Gwen kept calling, wanting to talk about what had happened with Fred, but Katie didn’t have room in her mind to process it. She’d touched Fred and felt something shift and then she’d passed out. When she’d woken up, he was better. Alive. Healthier than he’d been for month, maybe years. Katie had filed it under ‘good news’ and was concentrating on Violet Beaufort. If she could solve the mystery of Violet’s disappearance, help her to move on or whatever it was she needed, then she’d know her power was positive. And it would give her a way of dealing with the voices and spirits that seemed to be surrounding her every waking moment. Her only other thought was that she wanted to see Max. Which wasn’t good. He probably wasn’t even in Pendleford, any more, much less in a mood to help her. Still, he seemed like a man with certain skills and Katie didn’t feel she had many other options.

 
When she saw him in the staff room, downing a can of Coke, she felt as if the air in the room had been sucked out. She went to hold her necklace, remembered that Max would notice, and forced her hands back to her sides.

  ‘I thought you’d be long gone,’ Katie said. She lowered her voice, even though there was nobody else in the room. ‘Your watch—’

  Max offered his can. ‘Thought I’d stick around a while longer.’

  ‘Oh,’ Katie said. ‘That’s—’

  ‘I told you. I have a high tolerance for weirdness.’

  ‘Pendleford’s not that weird.’

  He grinned. ‘Uh-huh. Besides. You owe me dinner.’

  ‘I don’t think I ever agreed to that,’ Katie said, pleased. ‘Besides, you invited me out, which means if anybody owes anybody anything it would be you owing me. Dinner.’

  Max finished his can and Katie took the opportunity to mentally slap herself in the head. She had to stop babbling. ‘I actually need a favour. Can you help me find someone?’

  ‘Ghost?’ Max stood up and began tucking in his black shirt.

  ‘No. Alive people. At least, I hope so.’

  ‘No problem,’ Max said.

  ‘The Beaufort family moved out of this place in 1987 and I want to know why.’

  ‘People move, you know — it doesn’t mean it’s significant.’

  ‘This house belonged to the Beauforts since it was built in 1698. Imagine, your family lives in a place for almost four hundred years, and then you all just leave. Just like that. Why?’

  ‘Money troubles most likely.’

  ‘But they didn’t sell it straight away. It was left empty for a while before they sold it to an American.’

  Max looked up. ‘That is odd. Give me a moment.’

  He took his phone out of his pocket and stabbed buttons for a moment before putting it on the table.

  ‘Aren’t you going to Google?’

  ‘I know someone,’ he said, and gestured to his phone. After a moment it rang. ‘Yeah,’ Max said. ‘I need a favour.’

  He was looking out across the room while he spoke and Katie watched the slope of his shoulders, the lines of muscle that ran down his arms. He seemed to change when he spoke to the mystery man on the phone, become tense and different. Not her Max. Of course, Katie realised, she didn’t know him at all. This man. This man she had been hot and heavy with. She felt a shiver of fear. What was she doing?

  He finished the call and turned to her. ‘Juliet’s going to find us a Beaufort.’ He stretched, putting his head to one side and then the other. ‘Do you want to get out of here for a bit?’

  ‘Who’s Juliet?’

  ‘Private detective. She finds people on a professional basis.’

  ‘I can’t afford—’

  ‘Favour,’ Max said. ‘I’m calling it in.’

  ‘Oh.’ Katie hesitated. ‘Thank you.’

  *

  Katie had finished her shift and was thinking about having a Fab when Max came into the staff room.

  ‘Juliet came through.’ Max waved a slip of paper. ‘I’ve got a live Beaufort. Name, address, phone number, email, Facebook, the lot.’

  Katie took the paper. Michelle Beaufort. ‘Michelle. That’s not a very aristocratic name.’

  ‘She married into the family. Kept the name Beaufort after she divorced out of it again.’

  ‘Right.’ Katie looked at Max’s handwriting and contemplated ways to start the conversation with Michelle Beaufort. ‘Hi, you don’t know me, but I’m being haunted by your ex-husband’s ancestor. Any chance of a chat?’

  ‘Do you want me to phone her?’ Max said. ‘Or are you going to email first?’

  Email was tempting. Easier. And Michelle wouldn’t be able to slam the phone down.

  ‘That’s okay,’ Katie said. ‘May as well get it over with.’

  The phone rang a few times and Katie was beginning to think Michelle wasn’t home when there was a click and silence. It was the dead air quiet you got when the phone was connected, though, so Katie waited. There was a muffled thump and then some heavy breathing.

  ‘Hello?’ Katie said.

  Another thump. Then a child’s voice, far away, calling, ‘Mummy.’

  Katie waited again, watching Max reading through the notes she’d made while she did so. His hair was curling in the humidity and she couldn’t take her eyes off one lock that curled under his ear. The skin on his jaw line was bumpy from shaving and the nails on the hand that held the sheaf of paper were bitten, the skin around the cuticles ragged.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Michelle Beaufort?’ Katie said. ‘My name is Katie Harper and I work at The Grange hotel—’

  ‘I’m not buying anything,’ Michelle said.

  ‘I’m not selling anything,’ Katie said quickly. ‘I’m working at The Grange.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘It’s a hotel in Pendleford. But it’s the old Beaufort manor house.’

  ‘Oh, Christ. That place.’

  ‘I’ve become fascinated by the history-’ Katie stopped speaking when she heard the click of the phone being put down. ‘Crap.’

  Max had stopped reading and was listening. ‘No joy?’

  Katie shook her head. ‘She wasn’t in a chatty mood.’

  ‘May I?’ Max said.

  ‘Be my guest,’ Katie said and watched as he stood up and moved away from her to make the call. ‘Ms Beaufort? Yes, I know you just heard from my colleague.’ He paused, listening, and Katie dug her fingers into her palm.

  ‘The truth is we need your help. We’re researching the history of the house for a story and were hoping to speak to you.’ Another pause. ‘Nothing too personal. The fee isn’t big, but it’s the economy, you know-’ he broke off, then smiled. ‘One-fifty. Yes. Full copy approval. Absolutely.’ Then, ‘Thank you.’

  He turned to Katie. ‘Do you know the Little Teacup in Malmesbury?’

  ‘I can find it,’ Katie said.

  ‘Eleven-thirty,’ Max said into the phone. He grinned at Katie as he slid the phone back into his pocket.

  ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘Lies and bribery.’

  ‘Oh,’ Katie said, not feeling particularly guilty. ‘Excellent.’

  *

  Max insisted on coming with her, but she point-blank refused to let him drive her. It was a forty-five-minute drive and Katie took as many minor roads as possible. She miscalculated one and had to inch along a narrow lane, the hedgerows overgrown and brushing the sides of the car. The hedgerows were thick with cow parsley and the hawthorn trees were covered in creamy white flowers. It was as if the green hedges were covered in snowfall.

  Max was browsing through her iPod. ‘Why don’t you have any music?’

  ‘I have music,’ Katie said.

  ‘You have twenty audio books, lots of comedy — which I applaud—’

  ‘Thank you,’ Katie said with as much sarcasm as she could muster. Max didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘But hardly any music.’

  ‘I’ve got plenty.’

  ‘Best-of compilations don’t count. Where are your albums?’

  ‘Albums? How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-five. How old are you? Seventy-five?’

  ‘Rude,’ Katie said, suppressing a smile. Bickering with Max was more fun than she’d ever had in bed.

  Malmesbury was another pretty Wiltshire town. Nice architecture, honey-coloured stone, traffic-choked streets. Katie found parking behind the ancient abbey, and she and Max walked up through the town until they found the Little Teacup. It had bunting in the window and the tea was served in mismatched vintage china. There was also a generously sized children’s corner with beanbags, a play kitchen, garage, and low bookcase.

  Max sat at a corner table, his back to the wall, and leaned his head against the lilac-painted wall. He looked completely out of place. Like the devil at a teddy bear’s picnic.

  A waitress came over and took their order. As she turned away the door opened
and a petite blonde woman walked in. She was holding the hand of a little girl, who tugged free as soon as she saw the toys. The woman was looking around so Katie stood up and did a half-wave.

  The woman came over to their table. ‘I’m Michelle Beaufort.’

  ‘Katie,’ Katie said, ‘and this is Max.’

  Michelle gave Max an appreciative look and sat down. She was wearing an elegant slash-neck top that had to be silk and skinny jeans. She had lightly tanned skin and perfectly highlighted and styled hair. As far as Katie could tell, she could’ve been aged anything from thirty to fifty. But then, she’d been married back in eighty-seven. Katie’s insides clenched. What if Max’s information was wrong? What if this was the wrong woman?

  Michelle was gazing at Max. ‘Where’s your camera?’ she said. ‘No photos of Rosie, mind. She’s not part of the deal.’

  Max nodded as if he’d expected as much. ‘Payment is dependent on satisfactory information, as per usual NUJ guidelines.’

  Michelle turned to Katie. ‘What do you want to know?’

  Katie flipped open the notebook she’d brought. ‘You lived in the Beaufort house?’

  ‘For a short while. I married Thomas when I was nineteen—’

  The waitress brought drinks for Max and Katie, and Michelle paused to order hot water with a slice of lemon and a gluten-free muffin.

  ‘It must’ve been amazing,’ Katie said. ‘The house is—’

  ‘That’s one word for it,’ Michelle said. ‘I used to get lost getting from one end of that pile to the other. I hope they’ve modernised it.’

  ‘Yes, they’ve—’ Katie began.

  ‘That’s a lie,’ Michelle interrupted. ‘I wish they’d bulldozed the whole place.’ She gave Katie an apologetic smile. ‘Not the happiest time of my life.’

  ‘Ah. I’m sorry—’

  ‘Not your fault. I shouldn’t have married Thomas and I shouldn’t have stayed in that mausoleum after the first night.’

  ‘What happened on the first night?’

  ‘I’d been in the house lots beforehand, of course, but I’d never stayed the night. Old-fashioned values and all that. First night was after we’d come back from honeymoon. We were in the east wing, for privacy, you know, and old man Beaufort was being less of a drunken—’ Michelle glanced at Rosie, who was cooking with a plastic saucepan; she lowered her voice. ‘Thomas’s father was not a nice man. Neither was Thomas as it turned out, but I didn’t realise at the time.’